Davis Still Sings
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: I'm not Mrs. Randone anymore.


**DISCLAIMER: ****_Girl, Interrupted _****is not in my legal possession. It is not in my movie playlist; it is not to be found on my shelves. I can't even look it up without being fined for misdemeanor. Yeah, the Man will always own you.**

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The chicken is in the refrigerator downstairs, cold and crisp as it should be. I am washing the knife in the bathroom sink. Several valium pills skitter across the floor. My cat, Ruby, is scratching at my feet. _Not now, Ruby. _I think I say it, but my lips are tight and chapped. I forgot to put on my makeup this morning. I need to do that, don't I?

No…it can wait. But remember, fourteen carcasses and more than twenty cuts. It should have stopped by now. _It should have stopped._

I am beautiful. I have Daddy's money. My room is just as prim and proper as it should be. My dolls look like me; their hair is brushed, and their catatonic smiles amuse me. The record player has been on repeat all morning, and Skeeter Davis's voice is honestly starting to annoy me. Perhaps I should change it?

—_Why does the sun go on shining? _

_Why does the sea rush to shore?_—

I don't know, but they're too pretty to look at. The sun is bright, like the jonquil-yellow bathrobe I'm wearing right now. I've only been to the seashore four times in my life. I always wore that white unitard when I ran into the water with Daddy. I was eleven-years-old during my last trip there, and I remember throwing the unitard away when we got home.

_—Don't they know it's the end of the world,_

_'Cause you don't love me any more?—_

Ruby is mewing louder, coddling my feet with her soft fur. _Shut up! Just shut up! _I breathe through my nose, observing the reopened cuts on my arm. Drag that blade across your skin and pray for the courage to press down, they say. Should I do the same to my other one?

_—Why do the birds go on singing?_

_Why do the stars glow above?—_

Many women at the country club always found Daddy to be attractive. He never liked them, and I really didn't, either. They were always so…fake. They wore billowing dresses and nothing underneath so you could fuck them easily. It's not like they complained. They smiled as they let you crawl on top of them. They liked it even when they screamed, even when they cried in the shower every night…

It's easy to be a liar, isn't it? It's easy to swallow your pride and try something new without ever admitting it.

_—Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

_It ended when I lost your love—_

The brim of notched steel teeth drags across my hand. The knife clatters in the sink as I step back. The water is overflowing, causing the cat to scurry away. _Go away, I don't want you anymore. _I quietly lock the door, tasting the tears that dapple my lips. I turn to twist the tap off, and I notice how much blood there is. There was never this much before, not even from last night. I wonder…

Without even thinking about it, the knife is in my grasp again and the blade crosses paths with my other hand. I try to cry out, but my throat feels raw and ragged. It looks so beautiful, like a new shade of nail-polish that graces my fingertips. I wonder, how would it look on Susanna? No, how would it look on _Lisa? _Would she grin and make that stupid face as always, or would she scream in anguish?

I set the knife down, glowering at the listless silhouette in my mirror. This isn't Daisy Randone. This isn't even Mrs. Randone. This is a pathetic young lady with nothing to lose, except the wonderful fingers that prod at her weakest wounds.

It's going to hurt a little, but it gets better. It's OK, Princess—Princess? Daisy? Shh. You'll be OK. I'll make you OK, again. You just have to lay down, let Daddy fix your robe, and promise me you won't tell anyone. Yes…oh, yes, that's it. That's good. Good. Good girl; very, _very good girl._

_—I wake up in the morning and I wonder_

_Why everything's the same as it was._

_I can't understand, no, I can't understand_

_How life goes on the way it does—_

I don't understand either, Davis. And I don't think I ever will…

_—Why does my heart go on beating?_

_Why do these eyes of mine cry?—_

Keep singing, Davis. Tell Daddy I love him; tell Mommy to smile at me from the clouds, and tell Lisa and Susanna that they can go fuck themselves.

_—Don't they know it's the end of the world?_

_It ended when you said goodbye._

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**A/N: Well, here is my Daisy-centric one-shot for the evening. Yes, isn't this just the most charming thing I could think of for Christmas in July? Well, I got a beautiful green scarf and diamond earrings (currently wearing both of them c:), so I will say yes.**

**This is another off-the-cuff one-shot, just like the other one "Tell Me". The narrative isn't focused, but it isn't supposed to be. All it has to do is make you uncomfortable, and I think I did my job well. :)**

**I hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review telling me what you think, and feel free to meet me under the mistletoe while my 90s jams are still rocking on the radio~**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


End file.
